Never Could Resist a Challenge
by TheSapphireSky
Summary: Feeling like their marriages have become stuck in a rut, the Watsons and Holmeses decide to take a week away from their spouses. Who will be the first to crack before the week is over?


**AN: The idea for this cracky fic is taken from the I Love Lucy episode 'Vacation from Marriage.'**

'Sherlock.'

'John.'

The two men froze, their forks halfway to their mouths. Raising their eyes, they stared across the restaurant table at their wives. They knew the tone and it sent their minds into instant panic mode.

 _I picked Billie up from daycare, right?! Yes! Then I dropped her off at Mrs Hudson's. Did I miss an important date?! Oh, god, not an anniversary, please God, not an anniversary! Wait, no, that was three months ago. Her birthday? My birthday?!_

 _Did I forget to hide the thumbs I nicked from the lab? Did she find my stash of cigarettes inside the skull?! No, no, that warrants a cold shoulder. Have I forgotten one of those ridiculous anniversary things? Oh, god. I hate sleeping on that darn sofa._

Molly raised her eyebrow and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. Mary mimicked her perfectly.

'We've decided that our marriages have become stagnant,' Molly declared.

Sherlock dropped his fork with a clatter and glowered at his wife. 'I believe our activities just this morning negate that accusation.'

John coughed into his fist to hide his laugh. Mary and Molly shot him identical glares.

'We mean that, _aside from certain activities_ ,' Mary continued, eyeing Sherlock much like a mother would with an obstinate child. 'Our respective marriages have become stuck in a rut. We've lost the allure of romance. We feel very much taken for granted by the two of you.'

Their husbands gaped at them, insulted and disbelieving.

Sherlock broke first, rolling his eyes, as he drawled, 'That's ridiculous. Molly knows I have never been particularly romantic and loves me all the same. An understanding that I appreciate about her.'

'Fair enough,' Molly agreed. Sherlock eyed her warily at the too casual tone.

'Buuuut…'

'No but,' she shrugged.

The four of them sat in suspense for less than ten seconds before Mary broke the silence. 'However-'

'There it is,' John mumbled.

' _However_ ,' she stared him down with the force of a trained assassin. 'We do believe that it is time we… revitalized our marriages. From both sides, it's not just you men. I don't know about Sherlock and Molly, but I confess, since Billie was born, I stopped caring about my appearance, I stopped trying to seduce you.'

John reached across the table and grabbed her hand. 'You seduce me just as you are.'

Mary melted at his words, reveling in his big, warm, puppy dog eyes for a moment, before pulling her hand away. 'Nevertheless, I do want our relationship to become romantically-charged, as it were, like it used to be.'

'Ours, too,' Molly interjected softly. 'I love where we are now, Sherlock, but I do miss a little of the 'getting to know you' mystery, sneaking into supply cupboards for a heavy snog, even missing you whenever you left for a long case-'

'You don't miss me now?' He asked, offended.

Laughing, Molly laid her hand on his arm. 'Of course I do. But now I'm used to your long hours on a case, I'm accustomed to not seeing you for days at a time. I miss you, but I've learned to adapt, so that I can sleep, even though you're not beside me.'

Pouting, Sherlock sat back and crossed his arms with a harrumph. 'And just how do you propose we 'revitalize our relationship'?'

Molly and Mary exchanged a look.

'We'll be moving out-'

' _What?!_ ' Their husbands shouted, drawing the attention of the entire restaurant.

'-just for a week.' Molly finished, blushing at being the focus of everyone's gaze. 'Mary and I will stay at hers, and John can move back into Baker Street. His former room has my old bed in it, he can kip there. We won't see each other at all and after a week, we'll hopefully have a fresh perspective on our respective marriages.'

'And what about our daughter?' John asked his wife, eyebrows raised.

Mary smiled. 'Mrs Hudson has been talking about keeping Billie for an extended stay for a while. I'm sure she'll be delighted that we're taking her up on the offer.'

'So I'll only see you at Bart's?' Sherlock asked, trying hard not to whine.

Shaking her head, Molly smiled ruefully. 'Nope. No contact whatsoever. I worked it out with Dr Greene; he'll accommodate you for the week if I take all his weekend shifts for a few months.'

John crossed his arms. 'I don't like this.'

'Just think, though. It will be like it was before we were married. You and Sherlock sitting around, bickering, waiting for a case to come calling and send you running without anyone to hold you back,' Mary explained.

The men looked at each other.

'That is true,' John begrudgingly agreed. Sherlock pursed his lips in thought.

'So?' Molly prompted.

Sherlock sighed and relented. 'Very well.' He smirked at his wife. 'But I reserve the right to gloat when you come crawling back before the week is over.'

'Ha!' Molly barked, Mary snorting beside her. 'You'll be the ones desperate to see us.'

* * *

John snorted and shifted in his chair, his brow furrowing as he dozed.

Glaring over at the doctor, Sherlock plucked the strings of his violin in agitation.

'Will you bloody stop that,' John snapped, his eyes flying open.

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow and plucked a particularly harsh chord.

'Aargh!' John roared and jumped to his feet. Sherlock momentarily feared for his violin's safety and clutched it tightly to his chest. But John simply turned around and stalked into the kitchen, shoving aside days' worth of takeaway containers and banging things around as he set about filling the kettle.

Sighing, Sherlock set his violin down and drew his legs into his chest, wrapping his arms around them and glowering at John's back.

'We've still got three days to go. Do you think you can stop being such a whinging child for that much longer?' John barked over his shoulder.

Sherlock ignored the insult and deepened his glare, wondering if it was scientifically possible to set someone ablaze with the force of one's mind. Though if John hadn't caught on fire by now, it was most likely impossible.

Suddenly slamming the kettle down, John turned and pointed at Sherlock with an even, calculating anger. 'Listen, we wouldn't be in this predicament if you had any sense of romance whatsoever. So, dig into that thick skull of yours and find a way to get us our wives back without looking like we're groveling, pathetic messes without them.'

Harrumphing, Sherlock looked away. 'If you hadn't given your wife, and mine, a precedent of excessive romantic overtures, this wouldn't have happened. So don't blame me for something that is clearly your fault.'

Closing his eyes and silently counting to ten… then twenty… then fifty, John exhaled deeply and said, 'Whoever's fault it is doesn't matter-'

'It's your fault,' Sherlock mumbled petulantly.

'- _what matters is_ ,' John continued loudly, 'our wives are out frolicking in London while we sit here like two pathetic chumps.'

'So what do you suggest we do? They'll see through anything we try, aside from the truth; that we miss them and need them back,' Sherlock begrudgingly admitted.

John paused in thought. '...what if we 'accidentally' ran into them. Made it seem like we're having a great time without them. They'll realize their plan backfired and insist we go back to the way things were immediately.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'No, that won't work. That was the whole purpose of this darn thing. No, we need something that will elicit an instant reaction, something that will make them insanely jealous and refuse to let us leave their sight from then on.' His eyes lit up with a devious thought. 'We'll pretend to be meeting up with a couple girls on a date!'

The doctor shook his head, stopping Sherlock with a wave of his hand. 'No thanks, I like my manly bits as they are, whole and attached.'

'Then what do you suggest?' Sherlock snapped.

'I suggest... we call in the calvary.'

Rubbing a hand over his face, Sherlock groaned. 'This is going to cost me.'

* * *

'What do you think?' Molly wiggled her toes and glanced at Mary.

The blonde rolled her head around until her face was inches from Molly's feet. 'Didn't you just paint them blue last night?'

Molly capped the nail polish and placed the bottle in her bag before flopping backwards on the bed, her head next to Mary's feet. 'Nope. Last night they were purple.'

'Oh.'

They laid in silence for a bit.

'Mary?'

'Hmmm?'

'Can I ask you something?'

'Depends. Does it have to do with They-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?'

'...maybe.'

'Does it have to do with you missing the Curly-Haired One?'

'...it might.'

'You can ask on one condition.'

'What's that?'

Mary rolled over and propped her chin on Molly's thigh. Her blue eyes were wide and innocent as she blurted out, 'That we cut this short and go back to our husbands.'

'What?!' Molly shot upright, dislodging Mary. 'Are you saying you want to cave? Admit we were wrong? That we miss the big lunks and kiss off having any sort of pride for the rest of the year?!'

Biting her lip, Mary nodded.

'Thank God,' Molly breathed.

Mary's eyebrows shot up in surprise. 'Really? You, too?'

'Are you kidding? Since the first night. The only reason I suffered through this was because I don't want to see Sherlock's smug face when we admit this was a bad idea.'

'Oi!' Mary whacked her with a pillow. 'Suffered?'

Molly laughed and grabbed the pillow away, safely holding it against her abdomen. 'It hasn't been bad, I just…'

Their amusement faded.

'...really really miss him?' Mary finished, her gaze far away.

'Yeah,' Molly sighed, smiling ruefully. 'Kind of silly, since this whole thing was really my idea.'

Mary scooted up and sat beside her against the headboard. 'Well, I take half credit since I went along with the whole bloody thing. It seemed like a good idea at the time.'

'Who thought we loved our husbands enough to miss them,' Molly laughed.

Rolling her eyes, Mary nudged her friend's shoulder. 'Don't make jokes, Molly,' she dropped her voice to a low baritone.

The pathologist chuckled and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. 'So what do we do?'

'Get them to cave first, of course.'

Molly lolled her head to the side and frowned. 'How? I don't know about John, but Sherlock is the most stubborn man in the world. Put a challenge to him and it would take another world war to make him break his concentration.'

Mary thought for a moment. Then a wicked grin spread across her face. She glanced at Molly from the corner of her eye, a devious gleam in her blue eyes. 'Time to call in the reinforcements.'

* * *

'Unbelievable.'

'Sir?'

Mycroft slipped his mobile back inside his jacket pocket and settled back in his seat with a resigned sigh. 'It seems Sherlock and Molly's attempt to revitalize their 'romance' was not quite successful.'

Anthea raised her eyebrows. 'Oh?'

Rubbing his brow, Mycroft groaned. 'Sherlock asked me earlier today to assist him in convincing his wife and her 'partner in crime', Mrs Watson, to end this game without letting on how he desperately wants her back.'

'Desperately?' Anthea queried with a slight smirk.

'I may have taken significant liberties in recounting his testimony, though it is all true despite his remaining outwardly nonchalant,' he admitted with a sniff.

'And that was Molly on the phone just now?'

Mycroft rolled his eyes. 'Indeed. She and Mrs Watson have come to the same conclusion as their husbands: they want to end the game, but only if they can come out on top. And now I find myself like the proverbial rope, being tugged in two directions.'

Anthea laughed. 'So who are you going to help? I'm sure Sherlock has offered you a rather nice 'favor' should you help him. But you are inordinately fond of Molly, and endearing yourself to her is, forgive my unwarranted personal opinion, more likely to play out favorably for you in the future.'

'That is true,' Mycroft murmured. 'She is always happy to take my place at the theatre with Mummy and Father, not to mention those tasty pastries she brings me. But as nice as all that is, I do so enjoy sending Sherlock off for a miserable night watching Les Mis...'

He leaned his head back and fiddled with the handle of his brolly. Who was it going to be?

* * *

'Is it straight?'

'It's a plaster, Sherlock, it doesn't have to be straight.'

Sherlock scrunched his nose and reached up to touch the three-inch long bandage on his temple. His arms were covered in a variety of plasters, quite like much of his legs and face. John was in a similar condition, though he had gone one step farther and wrapped his left arm in a sling.

'Stop touching it!' John snapped as Sherlock prodded the plaster. 'If you want them to buy that we were in a 'rough scuffle,' then you can't be picking the plasters and revealing that 'hey, there's absolutely not a bloody thing underneath the damn things!'.'

Barely resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the doctor, Sherlock jerked his hand down and laid back down on the hospital bed. Sitting on the other bed, John occupied himself with practicing his grimacing face. Bored enough to enjoy the awful display, Sherlock turned his head to watch.

'You sure Mycroft is bringing them here?' John asked. 'It's been quite a while since he said he was on their way.'

'Seven minutes too long,' Sherlock frowned and rolled his head to look at the ceiling. 'Even accounting for London traffic.'

'You don't think…' John trailed off.

'Think what?'

'...that maybe something happened to them?'

Sherlock blinked, then slowly sat up and turned to face his friend. 'Mycroft's driver is trained by MI5 and a former CIA trained assassin, much like your wife, and his defensive driving techniques are second-to-none. I'm sure there's nothing wrong.'

John narrowed his eyes. 'You don't sound so sure.'

'Of course I'm not sure!' Sherlock suddenly shouted. 'My wife is now 8 minutes late on her way to see me after being informed I was in a life-threatening scuffle, when in fact I wasn't and now she may be in danger, hurt, or even dead, all because I was too proud to say I miss her!'

Thick silence fell between them after Sherlock's outburst. The detective was breathing heavily, his eyes wild with worry. John gulped, shaken at his friend's words and the idea that his wife might very well be in danger.

'Now, was that really so hard to admit?'

Sherlock and John jerked their heads up to see Molly and Mary standing in the doorway, unharmed. Molly stayed back, refusing to make eye contact with Sherlock, but Mary had no such restraint and immediately made a beeline for her husband.

'Mary,' John breathed in relief. Jumping down from the bed, he met her halfway and wrapped his free arm tight around her, breathing in deeply the familiar scent of home. Of her. 'I missed you, I missed you so much,' he whispered against her skin, pressing kisses along her temple and in her hair.

Mary let out a soft laugh and buried her face in the crook of his neck. 'I missed you, too.'

'Let's never do anything like this ever again.' John pulled back and frowned down at her as sternly as he could.

'Only if you promise never to try to scare me like this,' she countered, plucking at the sling wrapped around his chest.

'When did you find out we were lying,' he asked ruefully.

Mary sighed fondly. 'Darling, I'm trained to detect lying. Even from the British Government.' She brushed the front of his jumper and peeked up at him through her lashes with a coy smile. 'It also was helpful that he told us your plan from the very beginning.'

Dropping his head back, John inwardly cursed Mycroft. When he looked back down, he was surprised to find Mary staring up at him, taking in his, albeit false, wounds with a determined, seductive gaze, one he hadn't seen since early on in their relationship. Moving his hands lower on her back, he leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear. She shuddered as his breath tickled her neck. 'Mrs Hudson still has Billie for a couple days, Mrs Watson. What say you we take advantage of an empty house?'

Mary raised her eyebrows and pulled back. 'Why, Dr Watson, I thought you'd never ask.'

The couple slipped past Molly and shut the door, their muffled flirting fading as they walked away.

* * *

'You look awful.' Molly mumbled as soon as the door closed behind their friends, her arms crossed.

Sherlock looked down at his 'wounds'. 'I was hoping to convince a certain doctor to care for me.'

Molly raised an eyebrow. 'I'm afraid John is going to be a bit preoccupied for a few days.'

'I didn't mean John,' he spat.

'I know,' Molly smirked, the upper hand now definitely hers.

Sherlock glowered at her and turned away. Suddenly, the bed dipped as Molly sat down beside him. Her legs dangled several nearly a foot off the floor.

'So,' she drawled, popping her lips together several times. 'You missed me, then, huh?'

Clearing his throat, Sherlock preoccupied himself with removing the plasters on his arms.

Molly leaned forward, into his line of sight. 'If it helps, I missed you, too.'

'It… does,' he reluctantly agreed. Molly beamed. Standing, she moved in front of him, between his legs, and began gently removing the unnecessary plasters from his face.

'So, Mycroft has clearly chosen you as his favorite,' Sherlock grumbled.

Molly giggled. 'Apparently. And he was quite ready to help us get the two of you to come 'rescue' us, but we thought that might be a bit much. He was hesitant to divulge your plan, but all it took was the promise of an extra special, chocolate torte next Tuesday and he crumbled like a cookie.'

'Pathetic,' Sherlock grumbled.

Molly finished pulling off the last plaster along his temple. 'There,' she declared and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 'There's the man I love.'

Suddenly, Sherlock's arms shot out and pulled her down. She shrieked in surprise, the sound dissolving into laughter when he fell back on the bed, taking her with him. Her hair fell around her face like a curtain and she lifted herself up to stare down at his mischievous face.

Glancing at the closed door, she felt a smile tug at her lips. 'Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?' She slid a hand down his chest, popping open one button at a time, tantalizingly slow. 'Anyone could walk in at any time, Mr Holmes.'

'It is a possibility,' he agreed, a bit breathless from her touch. 'But I find that I have desperately missed my wife these past few days and she has missed me just as much. Though _I_ would be able to restrain myself during the ride home, I do not believe she could. And far be it from me to make her suffer needlessly.'

Molly narrowed her eyes dangerously. He swallowed nervously at the gleam in her eye.

'Never assume, Sherlock,' she whispered throatily, her breath brushing against his cheek. 'We'll see who is the first to crack on the way home.'

In an instant, she was off his lap and sashaying toward the door. Sherlock froze for less than three seconds before he jumped up, racing after her.

He never could resist a challenge.


End file.
